


(Non) Fiction

by BreePosens, orphan_account



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Side Staubrey, fake dating au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreePosens/pseuds/BreePosens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Actions always have consequences. Damn, she should have memorized those flashcards</i>.<br/><b>In which lies unravel and create something even more beautiful: Chloe Beale. [Fake Dating AU]</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flashcards Can't Save Us Now

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration fic with WolvesWithNoTeeth on fanfiction.net and tumblr. Her AO3 account is listed as a co-author, so go and check her out, her main fic is currently a Bechloe high school Alternate Universe.
> 
> On another note, please comment with your thoughts as we're both so excited to see the response to this fanfic.

Beca squeezes her eyes shut in preparation for the inevitable sneeze—she can feel the tickling at the bridge of her nose and her eyes beginning to water, and she lifts her arm just in time to catch it in the crook of her elbow. It’s quite loud.

She hears a yelp of surprise someplace behind her, and claws digging into furniture.

“Sorry bud’,” Beca mutters.  

Blinking away the sneeze aftermath, she rubs at her eyes because, _yikes_ , she really needs to top up on her hay fever medication. Her windows are open and pollen probably swept in and caught her by surprise. Her head lolls backwards, because going outside right now seems like the worst idea ever and she’s been putting it off for days. Nevertheless, she sucks in a breath, stands and grabs the remote, turning off the _Law and Order: SUV_ reruns in favour for picking up a jacket and waves good bye to her cat who still seems a little startled by the sudden ‘Achoo’.

“Bye, Colossus.”

Colossus gives her a mildly irate stare in response.

She shuts the door behind her and starts walking to the nearest pharmacy.

She’s about a minute into her journey when her phone pings, indicating an email. She pulls it up, and slows to a stop in the middle of the street as she scans the subject. Her gut plummets. 

> _To: Beca Mitchell_
> 
> _Subject: You’ve been invited to your niece’s birthday party._

Don’t get her wrong, she doesn’t not like her niece. There are just certain things that she’s been meaning to do and some lies she might have maybe told to her step-sister and step-mother about a non-existent girlfriend she’s been with for 3 months.

> _Beca._
> 
> _As I’m sure you’ve remembered, this coming weekend is Heather’s annual birthday weekend (attached is a copy of some of the more affordable items on her wishlist). Thus, you're invited to spend Thursday through Monday at mine and Stacie’s home._
> 
> _Don't even think about not coming, we’re all thoroughly excited to meet this doctor you've been seeing for the past three months — anyone who can turn Beca Mitchell into an acceptable human being Stacie, mother and I_ **_have_ ** _to meet._
> 
> _I look forward to meeting you and your other half at the airport Thursday—without ear monstrosities, they scare Heather._
> 
> _Much love,  
>  _ _Aubrey._

Crap.

Beca doesn’t even want to comprehend her actions if she opens the attachment; with a 100% chance of being vomited on by pinkness and unicorns, she really doesn’t want to risk her sanity. Instead, she inhales deeply, instantly regretting her breathing when she sneezes forcibly, the shake ricocheting through her small frame. The sneeze leaves her with more dread for the upcoming weekend than she’s initially anticipated, because it's Aubrey’s fault she's got this girlfriend in the first place.

* * *

_Beca’s fork continues to transport boeuf bourguignon from the—disgustingly—fancy plate in front of her to her mouth. She has been trying to zone out the conversations between the other four adults at the table throughout the entreé and the, surprisingly delicious, main course to no avail, because she's sure the four year old next to her step-sister and step-sister-in-law is giving her dirty looks too._

_Or maybe she's going insane, she's been working with an Australian called Fat Amy for three years now._

_As Beca’s fork carelessly clatters to the floor, all attention from previous conversation concentrates on the youngest adult. “How’s_ **_Atlanta_ ** _, Beca?” Aubrey asks before sipping from her glass of white wine._

_Sheila’s small snort doesn't go unnoticed by the petite woman, her step-mother obviously agreeing with Aubrey’s disdain for Georgia in general._

_“Atlanta is good. Atlanta is fun. Atlanta isn’t full of trophy wives.” Beca responds, ignoring her father’s small kick as she smirks into her glass of Malibu and Coke. Hell, she needs all the alcohol she can get if she's going to survive Memorial Weekend._

_Stacie finishes her task of cutting chicken nuggets into a more 4-year-old-friendly-size for Heather, taking the opportunity to evoke some positivity. “How's Residual Heat going?”_

_“I think they'll want to hear some of my original stuff soon.” What Beca fails to mention, is that her job at Residual Heat combusted in January, and so she's working shifts at her friend’s bar. “So that's promising, I could never hate working there.” In reality, all Beca really hates is how she's fifteen steps behind the two people opposite her. By the age of 35 they appear to have everything sorted; whereas Beca’s age of 32 without a really steady income is worlds away from being ideal._

_Once, Stacie actually shared her annual salary with Beca and—as one of the youngest CEOs in the industry—it is still pretty low compared with some of her competitors. However, Beca is still certain that $7.5 million a year (without bonuses), is pretty good to be getting on with. Hell, Heather won't have to work a day in her life if a chunk of that money is put in a savings account each year._

_“That's nice.” Beca once again lifts her glass to her lips as Aubrey continues talking. “Anyway, the company is heading for increasing profits; in celebration we’re buying a beach house in San Diego.”_

_Stacie smiles and takes her wife’s hand. “And we’re going to try for another baby with IVF in August.” Beca’s stomach lurches._

_Sheila squeals as Warren refills everyone’s wine glasses. “That's amazing!”_

_“I'm seeing someone!”_

_Beca feels her body stiffen, realisation and regret instantly filling her gut. Internally panicking as all four pairs of eyes are trained on her, she stumbles over her words. “Ye-yeah. She’s a, uh… doctor, and we’ve been dating for - what? - a month now?”_

_Aubrey merely stares at her whilst silence consumes the group. Warren is the one to cut through the hateful atmosphere. “Well, congratulations Beca, Aubrey and Stacie.”_

_Beca just smiles bashfully as Aubrey stares daggers into her forehead._

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckety. Fuck. Fuck._

* * *

Before Beca’s even comprehending the altercations her actions have caused, she’s walking past the pharmacy and towards the nearest bus stop. She glances up at the timetable: _Atlanta Medical Centre, 3 mins._ As soon as she hops off the bus at her destination, Beca begins running potential conversation starters over in her mind.

_‘Hey, my step-sister is nuts. Can you be my girlfriend from Thursday until Monday?’_

_‘It’s cool to say no, and I’ll pay air fare.’_

As Beca’s journey into the darkest depths of the hospital continues, she can’t help but let the anxiety building up in her chest take over. She’s just about to turn around when her shoulder catches another human being, the victim of Beca’s assault dropping her clipboard to the ground.

“Shit!” Beca cusses, taking a step backward instinctively.

A moment passes wherein Beca stares blankly at who she had bumped into - _literally_ the person she’d been looking for this whole time. She rushes to help pick up the fallen clipboard, a rushed “Here, let me help” breathed from her lips, only for her to collide head first with the doctor on her way down.

“Shit!” Beca repeats, and this time she hears an echo from the woman. “Sorry, Chloe.”

Chloe blinks a few times after hearing her name, still rubbing the top of her head until she realises that it had been Beca she’d bumped into - she’d recognized the repetitive cursing but couldn’t be sure until she saw the red-faced brunette herself. “You _again_?”

Beca frowns. “Okay, number 1, that was super rude. And number 2, I haven’t injured myself this time, alright?”

Chloe narrows her eyes, looking her up and down. “...You sure? You didn’t happen to trip on your way here and sprain your ankle like you did 3 weeks ago?”

She huffs, folding her arms over her chest defensively. “No. I’m here for hay fever medicine.”

“You live like 5 minutes away from a pharmacy? Now I’m beginning to think your accidents are not so accidental.”

“ _And_ for something else…”

Chloe tilts her head to the side, eyes wide with curiosity. She looks only slightly wary, which is a good sign. She thinks.

“Maybe we could discuss this someplace else? Like, not in the middle of a hallway?”

Chloe thinks for a moment, drawing her eyebrows together. “Sure,” she finally says, shrugging. “I’m on my break.”

* * *

“Okay, so, I kinda need to ask you a favor.”

Chloe looks at Beca skeptically as the brunette falls into a chair in the break room. Really, Chloe isn’t allowed to take anyone into the break room, but Jessica’s next break is in an hour so their alone. “A sexual favour?”

Beca’s face immediately contorts into disgust. “Dude, _no._ That’s… ew. I can’t even think about that.”

“Then what else?”

“I swear, your mind is like constantly in the gutter.”

Chloe considers this for a minute. “I _do_ work in the sexual health clinic.”

“Anyway, the favour is… kind of personal.”

Chloe narrows her eyes.

“As in, I need you to be my fake girlfriend of 3 months.”

After a few moments of silence, Chloe swallows. “ _What_ ?” Beca’s face becomes beet red, with Chloe’s mouth falling agar when she realises that Beca really isn’t kidding. “ _Why_ would I need to be your _girlfriend_ of 3 months?”

Beca’s chuckle is slightly raspy, “it’s a really funny story…” Chloe, on the other hand, doesn’t appear to be taking the request quite so lightly. “Do you have any older siblings? Because older siblings can cause the younger sibling to become fucked up and pull stunts like this…”

“I- Beca, where is this coming from?”

“Pressure to succeed. Deep rooted feelings of inadequacy to my step-sister. The fact I lack the genes to reproduce as successfully as her - her daughter is _gorgeous_ , Chloe, and she’s _four._ She’s probably more attractive than me!”

“Woah, woah, Beca. Slow down.” Chloe takes a deep breath. “If--”

Beca’s eyes widen, “If?”

“ _If_ , _theoretically_ , I _were_ to fake date you, what’s in it for me? I have a job that I need to actually show up to, I don’t even know you that well--”

“I’m willing to make flash cards.”

“--it’s just, not very well thought out. I mean, it sounds exciting, but… not logical.”

Beca sighs deeply. “Chloe. You’re the opposite of logical.”

Chloe pouts. “I’m a doctor. I’m at least rational.”

“That’s my point! You’re a doctor. Doctor equals impressive, and _might..._ also be the occupation that I said my fake girlfriend had.”

Chloe only blinks.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really need this, Chlo’. It’s _only_ a weekend for my niece's birthday.” Beca promises. “I’ll even pay for your plane ticket to New York.”

Chloe ponders it for a moment. Mainly, it’s so she can watch Beca squirm. She takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds, until she exhales with a soft,  “I suppose I _could_ do with a holiday…”

Beca hates physical contact with more passion than she dislikes Aubrey, so when she hugs Chloe tightly around the shoulders as if she’s a life line and then lets go a millisecond later, they both take several wary steps back. “Yeah, uh, thanks. Our flight’s at 9:30, so meet me at the airport at 8:00 so I can run through everything with you.”

* * *

Beca slides into the booth with ease, coffee in hand. Chloe looks up at the sound of leather against denim, her straight face quickly easing into a smile when she sees Beca. “Good morning.”

Beca groans at the sound of Chloe’s chirpy voice. “It's too early.”

Chloe only  giggles in response as Beca places a pile of flashcards onto the Starbucks table. “Here. I spent 4 hours on these so you better appreciate them.”

Chloe picks up an A4 sheet of paper that had been placed beside the flashcards after giving Beca a weird look, eyes scanning over the title quickly. “ _‘Affordable Birthday Wishlist’_?” Chloe looks to Beca. “What the hell?”

Beca places her coffee back onto the table. “Yeah, that's from Aubrey for Heather’s birthday. I get a special list of _‘affordable’_ things I could buy her.” Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Last year, her moms gave her a Ralph Lauren backpack - among other overpriced things. I gave her a _One Direction CD_ . Can you believe it? You’ve known me for what, 4 months? You _know_ the pain I felt in my heart when I stepped up to the checkout.”

Chloe’s eyebrows knit together. “What four-year-old needs a Ralph Lauren backpack?”

Beca shakes her head, bringing her cup to her lips. They can’t be dwelling on such minor details if Chloe’s going to memorise everything before their arrival in New York. “It doesn’t matter. Her parents are rich, I’m not. On the flight you’re just gonna have to cram.”

Chloe frowns. She does not seem to happy about this.

“You have a _medical_ degree. Seriously. Learning some facts about me and my family can’t be that hard.”

“Ugh, _fine._ ”

Beca smiles, all toothy and over the top and only a little bit sarcastic. Chloe rolls her eyes and grabs the top flashcard from the pile.

“Your favorite food is Taco Bell? Is that why you have such a bad bladder?”

Beca folds her arms over her chest. “I resent that. Also, I’m in a perpetual state of dehydration.”

Chloe looks only slightly distressed at this carelessness before moving onto the second flashcard. “Why is there a floorplan of the house?” Beca immediately grabs the flashcard back, shoving it into her pocket. Chloe simply raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Beca?”

Beca looks down at the table, mumbling something inaudible.

“Hmm?” Chloe tilts her head, leaning forward slightly.

“I get lost,” came the slightly louder confession, and Chloe is forced into covering her mouth with her drink in order to avoid breaking out in laughter at the declaration. Beca quickly notices Chloe’s body starting to vibrate as she struggles to hold her laughter inside and spare Beca the embarrassment. “Stop it! If you can get from the kitchen to our room first time I’ll give you a hundred bucks,” she says in all seriousness, giving Chloe a challenging glare.

Chloe’s eyebrow raises, “are you serious?” When Beca nods solemnly, Chloe giggles. “Oh my God, you’re on, it can’t be _that_ big.” She holds her hand out, and Beca shakes it, a smirk playing on the edges of her lips.

Before long, it’s time for them to board the plane, and Chloe has only made her way through half of the flashcards, trying her utmost to commit every detail to memory. She’s not doing very well, instead trying and failing to stifle her laughs at how random and ridiculous the flashcards actually are, and how committed to this Beca must have been to have spent _4_ hours on this. More specifically, 240 minutes, which is a lot of minutes.

They’re now sitting beside each other, Chloe beside the window and Beca having to sit beside a total stranger for two hours, who totally reeks of sweat, by the way. Beca discreetly pulls her shirt over her nose.

“I know you have blue eyes, Beca. You didn’t need to include it in your flashcards.”

“Are you _sure_? I’d say about 85% of people think my eyes are grey.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, takes a breath and goes to the next card.

* * *

Chloe nudges her shoulder a little. Beca does not stir.

She tries again, this time slightly more aggressive, but Beca remains with her head weighing heavy on Chloe’s shoulder, mouth open and drool beginning to make its way down her chin. Chloe feels her body tense up as she watches the drool travel closer and closer to the edge, kill bill sirens playing in her head as she watches it drip from her chin and onto her brand new shirt--

“Beca! Wake up!”

“Huh? What?” Beca is up in a flash, and Chloe feels she can finally breath. Beca had been admittedly adorable which asleep, but having to stay ramrod straight for an hour and a half while trying to memorise inconsequential details about said person isn’t a very pleasant experience.

“We’re landing soon. You fell asleep.”

“Oh,” Beca breathes.

“You have drool on your chin, by the way.”

Beca’s cheeks heat up, and she quickly wipes it away. Chloe was lucky enough to have woken Beca _just_ before the saliva made contact with her shirt - which would obviously have created a bad first impression on Beca’s mega rich step-family. To be honest, with the information she’s read about Aubrey and her mother, she’s beginning to second-guess her decision.

“ _Please fasten your seat belts. We will be arriving at LaGuardia Airport soon.”_


	2. Cupcakes?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because four-year-olds are cute (even if their mothers are worse than the women of Real Housewives).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say a massive thank you for your understanding surrounding my position when it comes to updating. Currently, I am beginning my GCSE examinations, and therefore do not have the time to necessarily update as quickly as you'd like. 
> 
> I'm so sorry about this, but blame the British government and Nicky Morgan.

 

Chloe continues to glance towards her right as she and Beca make their way towards the airport’s exit, focused on making sure the luggage trolley Beca’s pushing doesn’t topple over. In comparison, it would be even more embarrassing than if Beca’s drool had actually succeeded in its attempts to stain Chloe’s shirt.

Chloe is keeping her eyes on her shoes as the floor passes under her, until she hears an abrupt stop beside her. Her head whips up, turns to look at Beca briefly, and then scans the perimeter for whatever had put a stop to their walking.

“Beca?”

Beca’s eyes are zoning in on a blonde a reasonable distance away.

“Earth to Beca?” Chloe’s entire body spins around at a voice that _definitely_ does _not_ belong to her. “Becs, stop staring at that random woman when you have a girlfriend right beside you.”

Beca, too, turns around at speed, and she almost seems to relax when she sees a tall, slightly balding man in front of her, _not_ Aubrey. “Dad,” she says, and quickly grabs Chloe’s hand, squeezing it. Chloe looks down at their hands and only just manages to stop herself from reacting. “Why are you here?”

Warren reaches out and grabs the trolley of luggage. “Well,” he swings the trolley around 180 degrees before he begins to push it towards the exit, “I didn’t want either of you being subject to Aubrey when you’ve been on a plane for that long.”

“She’s at yoga with those bitches she calls _friends_ , isn’t she.”

Chloe’s eyes move to Beca as Warren sighs. He’s obviously not comfortable with this conversation as it is, and as he turns a corner and approaches a car, he remains silent for a few moments.

“She’s…” He stops behind his car, opening the trunk to place Chloe and Beca’s suitcases inside. “At brunch.”

“She’s such a bitch.” Beca mutters as she climbs into the back seat, allowing Chloe to sit beside her.

Warren pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before he, too, climbs into the car. When he does, he instantly regrets making eye contact with Beca through the rear-view mirror. God, this weekend is going to be awful. “You’re thirty-two, Beca. Is it not a little immature to call people a bitch?” His forehead wrinkles and his eyes squint when the expletive leaves his mouth like a foul taste.

Chloe glances at the flashcards wedged between her thigh and the car door.

_‘One-hundred and seventy-two: Dad plays ‘peacekeeper’, try to be neutral on controversial topics.’_

“Dad.”

“No, Beca.” Warren reiterates as they begin their journey towards New York’s High Society suburbia. “I refuse to have this conversation with you. I love you both equally and no-one is a… a bitch for going to brunch, okay?”

Chloe slides her hand across the back seat, offering it to Beca. _Neutral her ass_.

Beca grumbles something inaudible enough that Warren refuses to push any further. Chloe only smiles softly when the brunette takes her offered hand and squeezes it in gratitude.

It’s weird. It doesn’t feel unnatural at all.

* * *

 

Chloe only looks away from her flashcards when Beca groans. At first she’s confused as to why Beca seems so discontent, but when her eyes focus on the line of massive houses either side of the road, she knows she’s screwed. Hell, in reality she’s more than screwed. In fact, as soon as she learnt of Stacie’s salary, she’d been regretting _everything_ she’d promised to help Beca with.

“Are these-”

Beca shakes her head immediately, “ _these_ are the small ones.”

Chloe quickly flicks through her flashcards. _‘Two-hundred and thirty-nine: Good fucking luck, Chloe.’_ She breathes in, takes one more long look at the rows of houses, and says, “ _Great._ ”

Beca only smiles sheepishly.

* * *

 

The car slowly but surely grinds to a halt, and Chloe finally manages to peel her eyes from her wringing hands in order to look around some more. By the time she’s actually regained enough saliva from where her mouth dried up in awe, Warren has both hers’ and Beca’s suitcases and is already approaching the front porch.

Chloe fumbles with the handle of the car door, but once she manages to get out and crunch the gravel beneath her feet, she stops. They had driven over a seemingly endless driveway and arrived at the most _expensive_ -looking house Chloe had ever seen—cream pillars and rich red bricks surrounded with masses of grass and hedge, all of it perfectly trimmed, perfectly grown, perfectly _green_.

Only now does she understand what Beca had meant when she’d written, ‘ _One-hundred and eighty-nine: It’s basically trophy wife central. Try not to gawk too much.’_

When Chloe focuses on Beca once again, the smaller woman is instead staring at a sleek black car close by, a confusing mixture of utter dread and determination in her eyes.

Fuck, it’s a Bentley, Chloe realises, and doesn’t have to refer back to her flash cards to understand.

“Aubrey must’ve got back early.” Beca’s itching of her praying mantis tattoo is a tell-tale sign that she’s nervous. (Chloe will say willingly and wholeheartedly that the amount of information in those cards is an overkill.) “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe mumbles as she follows Beca and approaches the front porch of, and let her reiterate, what can only be described as a mansion _x 10_. She follows Beca inside as the sound of heels clicking against marble resonates through the entrance hall.

Chloe steals a glance at Beca as a blonde continues her descent of the staircase, every step she takes making Chloe wish she was back in Atlanta - diagnosing herpes is better than _this_. The woman, Aubrey, ends her grand entrance with a proud tilt of her chin and the slight swish of her perfect hair, and stands so that she has equal view of the both of them.

“I’m being dragged out to dinner with my step-sister and her imaginary girlfriend, and I am _not_ doing that sober.” Aubrey drawls, giving Beca an unimpressed look and an extremely judgey glance Chloe’s way.

Beca merely shrugs, fair play. “How about we have margaritas at mine for four?”

There’s a break on the battlefield, and Chloe’s mouth decides that this moment in time is the perfect time to blurt, “You smell like summer.”

She gasps, eyes wide, and instantly covers her mouth as Aubrey fixes her gaze on her and raises one plucked eyebrow sky high.

“It’s pre-fall, _actually_.”

Chloe clamps her mouth shut and doesn’t let herself do anything but nod and take a feeble step back.

Aubrey moves onto her next prey, her mouth curling in thinly veiled disgust as she utters the word, “ _Midget_.”

Beca smirks in reply. “ _Trophy wife._ ”

“Is that supposed to be an insult? You’ve lost your flare.” Aubrey takes a step closer to Beca, sneering at the spikes lodged in Beca’s ears. “I told you to take those _out_.”

“Last time I checked, this was a free country.”

Chloe feels a breath leave her as Warren appears at the top of the stairs. “Aubrey, leave her alone.”

Beca juts her lower lip out, faking a pout. Aubrey sends one final judging glance in Chloe’s direction before she turns on her heel and walks off into the vast house, placing a phone to her ear. “Who doesn’t know the difference between summer scents and pre-fall ones?”

Chloe feels her cheeks flush bright red, and she knows she just fucked up. She looks to Beca, who tries to offer some reassurance. “How was I supposed to know? The only scents I’m familiar with are hand sanitizer and coffee.”

Beca shakes her head. “Don’t worry, she’s a bitch to anyone not of the same social standing.” When Chloe’s face falls slightly, Beca has to think fast to rectify her mistakes. “Actually, she’s bitchier than the women on Real Housewives. We’ll be fine; just follow the flashcards.”

Warren gestures to them to follow him, and they’re at the top of the staircase when Beca stops in her tracks, a sly grin slowly spreading across her face.

Chloe narrows her eyes. “What?”

Beca wets her lips. “Do you remember our bet?”

“You mean, you’ll give me a hundred bucks if I can get from the kitchen to my bedroom—”

“ _Our_ bedroom,”

Chloe blinks, “Right- our bedroom. What about it?”

“Dad you can go… have a facial with Sheila. I’m taking Chloe to the kitchen.” With a triumphant grin and a push past Warren’s alarmed protests, Beca grabs Chloe’s wrist and starts dragging her down the staircase as she tells Chloe to squeeze her eyes shut.

Chloe complies wordlessly, worrying her lower lip because she knows the exact measurements of the shitstorm she’s just walked into.

What feels like 20 twists and turns later, Beca tells her to open her eyes. They’re in the kitchen, and Chloe can feel dread beginning to build up in her stomach. “Can I go back on the bet?”

“Beale! Where is your competitive spirit!” Beca tuts, pats her on the shoulder and says, “Good luck.”

A wink and a door slam later, and Chloe’s all alone in a mansion sized maze.

At first, she tries to think about the task systematically, trying to recall how many steps she’d taken before each twist or turn. She’s so caught up in the matter at hand that she fails to notice the four-year-old colouring beneath the kitchen table and occasionally glancing at her.

“One, two, then... left?” Chloe mutters to herself as she tries to move all her thoughts to memory.

“Who are you?”

Chloe’s feet leave the floor at the sound of the small voice. “Jesus!”

All the instructions she’d tried to move to long term memory instantly evaporate from her mind, and she clamps down the expletive that had just attempted to leave her mouth. “Who are _you_?”

The small girl sticks her tongue out the edge of her mouth as she focuses on choosing a crayon colour. “I’m Heather.” She eventually finds her pink crayon before continuing to scribble in the colouring book.

Chloe watches for a moment as the small blonde continues her colouring. She recalls Beca complaining about how attractive Heather is and it takes her a second to realise what Beca meant when she said ‘she’s more attractive than I am’. In reality, Heather is not more attractive than Beca, but for a four-year-old, she certainly is beautiful. The other thing that strikes Chloe, however, is the fact that if you were to see Aubrey and Heather out on the streets together, it would take no amount of effort for your subconscious to recognise that they’re mother and daughter - it’s almost kind of creepy, actually.

“Why are you under the table?”

Heather’s eyes still don’t leave her colouring book. “I’m playing hide and seek with my Mommy.” Chloe nods, _oh_. The pink crayon is substituted for a blue one. “She’s looking.”

Before she has a chance to stop herself, Chloe is dropping to her knees on the kitchen floor. The muted noise doesn’t seem to interfere with Heather’s colouring as she doesn’t give the doctor a second glance.

“Can I ask you something?” Heather merely nods, still focusing on getting her princess’ dress perfect. “Do you know where Aunt Beca and my room is?”

When Heather finally looks up from her book, Chloe has made her way over to her, having crawled across the floor. “You’re weird.” Chloe raises an eyebrow. “My house isn’t that big, Grandpa’s is bigger.”

Chloe sighs to herself; she’s getting nowhere.

“Can you show me the way?”

Heather places her crayon down gently as to not crack it, moving her hand under her chin in order to prop her head up. “I don’t know you.” She tilts her head up ever so slightly and raises both her eyebrows, giving Chloe an expectant look, and she looks so similar to Aubrey that Chloe has to look away for a second.

Chloe mimics Heather’s body language. “I don’t know you either.” Heather tilts her head to the side. “I’m Chloe, Aunt Beca’s girlfriend.”

“But... you’re a real person...”

Heather just looks completely perplexed for about 2 seconds, until she reaches out, smiles, and then boops Chloe’s nose. “Mommy said you weren’t real. But because you are real, we can do cookies!”

Chloe cowers behind her hands as Heather stands up, the four-year-old showing no concern for the height of the table. Then, Chloe feels a tug on her hand from a whirlwind of pink.

It’s wrong to bribe children… right?

“Wait.” Chloe sighs in relief when the tugging stops. “I’ll make cookies with you if you take me to my room.”

“You sleeping with Beca?” Chloe’s mouth opens and closes for a second, and then she nods vigorously because this is a 4 year old child she’s talking to. Maybe she should take a break from the sexual health clinic.

A tiny hand slides into her own, and before her feet can register it, she’s being dragged towards one of the several exits of the kitchen. “This way.” Chloe allows Heather to lead her through the twists and turns of the house, every room they pass creating even more dread and anxiety in Chloe’s gut.

What if this is a trap? What if Beca’s already bribed Heather to get her lost?

Eventually, they’re back in the entrance hall.

“Your room is on the top.” Heather mentions as she begins running up the stairs, her blonde curls bouncing with every step she takes. Chloe slowly makes her way upstairs too, trying to keep up with the energetic four-year-old in front of her. She continues following Heather up the second set of stairs and watches as Heather stops outside a bedroom door. “We make cookies now?”

Chloe places her hand on the handle of the door. “We’ll make cookies, I promise, just not right now.” The answer seems to satisfy the child as Heather skips back towards the staircase.

She knocks once before opening the door to the room, the sight of Beca on her laptop unsurprising.

_‘Fifteen: My laptop is my life - touch it, and we break up.’_

“Hey,” says Chloe, as nonchalantly as possible as she leans against the doorframe.

Beca’s head snaps up, and the look on her face is absolutely priceless. It takes all of Chloe’s self restraint to stop herself from taking her phone out and snapping a picture - for blackmail, probably.

“I think you owe me a hundred bucks.”

Beca’s jaw moves up and down comically, no sound leaving her mouth.

“But…but- _how_ ?” Chloe only giggles as Beca sits up on the queen size bed, moving her laptop from her lap. “How the _hell_?”

Chloe only holds her hand out. “Come on Mitchell, _pay up._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some questions to make our conversations in the comments more interesting (I try my hardest to reply to all comments):
> 
> 1) You've only seen a small bit of Aubrey, but so far, what are your opinions on her?
> 
> 2) How will Chloe and Sheila's first meeting go?
> 
> 3) How about you leave me a question to respond to?
> 
> 4) Here is the link to the house we're semi-using for inspiration: http://www.zoopla.co.uk/for-sale/details/38439226?search_identifier=82bb90d53d371dc1d848584eefd6131c#ufQdM2uhtGMrtvp6.97


	3. Set To Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe get their first real test, Sheila. Then they have to suffer through dinner with Beca's step-family in a fancy restaurant, what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what are everyone's thoughts on Sheila?

 

Chloe’s pacing is the only constant in Beca’s life right now, and she never anticipated something so consistent annoying her  _ so much _ . The continuous movement across the end of the bed is beginning to be more annoying than Beca’s bank account balance; a measly six dollars. 

“If they ask about art, I like Anne Geddes’ photography.” Chloe slides another flashcard to the back of the pile, eyebrows drawn together with furious tenacity. “Don’t look at the menu, blindly order a caesar salad.” The anxiety in Chloe’s gut appears to have a permanent residence there, and the second pile of flashcards Beca’s dumped on her purely for this dinner are not helping. “When I’m offered a drink, I’ll have whatever wine Aubrey and Sheila are having.” 

Chloe stops pacing for a second, but by no means does the ceasefire equate to her being any calmer. Her forehead is wrinkled, her lower lip nearing a fully chewed through state. “I can’t do this,” she whispers, too quiet for Beca to hear the beginnings of her meltdown.

Beca’s eyes move back to her laptop as a familiar feeling surfaces in her nose. She squeezes her eyes shut and manages to pull her elbow to her nose in time for the sneeze. “Ugh.” She grunts, “I never got any medication.”

Chloe inhales for as long as her lungs can bear, and only lets go when it feels as though they’re about to burst. She repeats this five times, with Beca looking at her weirdly only once. She resumes her pacing. 

“Oh my God,  _ please _ stop pacing.” 

“I’m sorry, but you’re not the one who has to memorise 50 cards worth of possible conversation scenarios. In fact, you’re the one who gave them to me!” 

Beca’s mouth drops open slightly, and she backs away as far as she can against the wall on instinct. 

“Am I allowed to break up with you? Right now? I can do the explaining to your family- tell them you and I just weren’t working, there was no chemistry—” 

“What? No!” Beca slides off the bed quickly, slamming her laptop shut. “We’ve gotten this far Chloe, it’s just one dinner. You’ll do fine! Also, we have loads of chemistry. That wouldn’t work.” 

Chloe scoffs. The meltdown has begun. “You’re kidding, right? Aubrey  _ hated _ me. I’m pretty certain she thought of my existence as unnecessary and bothersome. And Aubrey is Sheila’s  _ daughter _ ! Oh God.  _ Oh _ , God. Beca, you’re not invited to my funeral.” 

Beca takes a moment to shake off her offense at not being invited to Chloe’s funeral and approaches Chloe as if she’s a wild animal, with her hands outstretched and her body angled away. “Chloe, you’re not gonna die. If you were gonna die, I’d have already made you write out your will and promise me 50% of your doctor money.” 

Chloe glares. 

“We’re gonna get through this dinner alive, even if there are a few scrapes and bruises at the end, okay?” 

“No,” Chloe breathes, “we’re not. At my funeral - which you’re still not invited to - I want the History of Japan video played on repeat.” 

Beca scrunches her face up to stop herself from reacting inappropriately. She  _ loves _ that video, but that’s not the point. “Chloe. We have 10 minutes before we have to go downstairs. Just put your dress on and we can sort this out.”

Whining as the dress is handed to her, she trudges to the corner of the room and begins to strip. Beca spins around and stares at the wall, red-faced.

* * *

When Beca finally wrestles Chloe down the staircase and into the entrance hall, they’re met with Warren adjusting his tie. The balding man turns around at the sound of the pair, offering a smile.

“You both look lovely.”

Chloe pretty much wants to strangle Beca now. She’s had one compliment  _ all day _ , and it’s from the man who was the - quote, unquote - “most accepting”. Her grip on Beca’s hand is less for her own comfort and more to cause the brunette unnecessary pain for dragging her into this steaming pile of shit.

“Thank you-”  _ Seventy-Nine: My dad is a doctor too, except he has a Ph.D. in Literature. _ “-Dr. Mitchell.”

Warren smiles in appreciation. “Honey, come meet Beca’s girlfriend.”

As soon as she hears the word ‘honey’ leave her father’s mouth, Beca is pulling her hand from Chloe’s and instead snaking her arm around the doctor’s waist. Chloe initially tenses at the unexpected physical contact but allows some of the tension to fall away from her shoulders as Beca’s fingers gently rub circles against her hip.

Chloe almost feels her breakfast rising in her throat as a blonde woman practically waltzes into the entrance hall like she owns the place. (She does through her daughter, but that’s beside the point.)

The first thing Chloe notices about her is her smile. It’s stretched forcibly, the deep red coating nearly cracking at the edges. Sharply angled and almost predatory in its size and whiteness of the teeth, it remains in place as a polite compliment drifts through, ear-piercingly high pitched and as fake as a Barbie doll. A shark’s mouth. 

Next, Chloe sees the nose, and then the eyes - an unmerciful, crystal grey - and then zooms out to view the entirety of her face. High cheekbones and golden hair, and the image now complete. 

Chloe sucks in a breath. “Hi, you must be Sheila.” She smiles wide and bright, trying to mimic Sheila’s own smile, save for the general nastiness, and steps forward to offer her hand. She doesn’t see Beca’s slight wince. 

Sheila’s smile falters, but she takes the outstretched hand with only slight hesitancy anyway. “And you, darling, must be Chloe. I’ve heard  _ so _ much about you.”

Chloe looks to Beca long enough for the brunette to shrug and shake her head a little because she really hasn’t said anything about her. “Beca speaks so highly of you.”

“Hmm.” The subtle rolling of Sheila’s eyes reinforces the fact that Chloe absolutely sucks at lying. “At least Forever 21’s Summer Sale has  _ some _ nice dresses.” The nastiness is back again, and so is Chloe’s desire to pick up one of the many vases and hit Beca around the head with it. “Maybe you should try black, it won't clash with your hair.”

Chloe’s mouth opens and closes before Warren breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Stacie and Aubrey are meeting us there, we may as well leave if Emily and Heather have everything they’ll need.”

_ Heather. _ When Chloe’s eyes settle on Beca again, it's evident they've had the same thought — if was Heather’s there, they wouldn’t  be too harsh on her. But, alas, Heather is staying at home with a girl Chloe presumes is her nanny. 

Chloe’s cheeks puff out as Sheila and Warren disappear out of the door, Warren giving them a single glance backward as an invitation to follow them. 

“That could’ve gone worse…” Beca evaluates as she hooks her arm through Chloe’s. “ _ So _ much worse.”

* * *

They arrive at the restaurant only 10 minutes later. Beca opens the car door for Chloe, side-eyeing Sheila to see if she catches this act of relationship-type chivalry. She’s already at the entrance.

A waiter, with blonde, coiffed hair and the likeliness of a model, approaches them immediately and guides them to a table quite close to the center, yet not so much so that they feel surrounded. Beca knows that Sheila will be applauding Stacie and Aubrey on their choice of seating as soon they sit down. 

Beca appears slightly suspicious of how literally every waiter here borders supernaturality with the appearance and symmetry of their face, and Chloe seems to notice this as well.

“My, I must say that this choice of seating is marvelous,” Sheila comments, casting an appreciative look towards Stacie and Aubrey, and they smile kindly in unison in return. Aubrey’s smile drops when her gaze moves to Beca and Chloe, replacing itself almost automatically with the same judging gaze from earlier on.

And so it begins, Chloe mentally notes as Beca pulls out the chair right beside Aubrey for her.

“Wine for you ma’am?” Chloe looks up at the waiter, who’s nursing a, stupidly expensive, bottle of wine in his hands. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, wincing in embarrassment when Beca has to insist that she does, in fact, want a glass. As Chloe’s dining experiences go, this is probably the worst one ever - she hasn’t even ordered yet.

Beca sighs knowingly as her step-family falls into a conversation which relates to nothing she and Chloe know. She leans backwards in her chair, wondering why Chloe isn’t enough for them.

“Luke and Flo got divorced - she only got  _ five _ million,” Aubrey begins. “Once a mistress,  _ always _ a mistress.”

Chloe looks down at her hand, tilting her head slightly at the fingers interlocking with her own.

It’s weird, it still doesn’t feel unnatural.

“Holy fuck,” Beca breathes, and Chloe quickly glances at the other people at the table with them. “Five million’s a fuckload of money.”

Warren’s first to react, clearing his throat to try and dispel some of the awkwardness. “Language, Beca, we aren’t at a club.”

Beca mumbles an apology whilst Chloe runs her thumb over the other woman’s hand, trying to offer some support. Beca lets another sneeze leave her nose and she feverishly rubs the offending body part. She continues sitting in silence with Beca for a few moments, before the harsh reality of the dinner hits her.

Sheila replaces her wine glass onto the table. “Which medical school did you go to?”

Chloe swallows as her brain processes the impact her answer could have on the impressions each of Beca’s step-family hold. She casts her mind back to the flashcards: Aubrey graduated Harvard Law, Stacie’s degree is from Harvard too, and Dr. Mitchell teaches at New York University. 

And here she is, with her medical training from Emory in Atlanta, the twenty-third best medical school in the country. 

Don’t get her wrong, she’s insanely proud of herself. But her pride isn't enough for her to succeed in trophy wife central.

“Emory.” Chloe answers, eyes cast downwards in an attempt to avoid any judgemental gazes. “It’s a wonderful school.”

“So’s Heather’s future elementary school,” out of the corner of her eye, Chloe realises Aubrey’s whispering to Stacie whilst the waiter from before circles the table with the bottle of wine again, “that doesn’t mean I’d choose to study medicine there.” 

Stacie seems to ignore her wife, “how did you two meet?” Her voice is the calm before the storm of the dinner.

Chloe’s eyes fall to Beca, and out of all the things the flashcards had finalised, their first meeting wasn’t one of them.

* * *

_It happened like this:_

_ Beca is drunk. Very drunk. Ridiculously drunk. If you were to google synonyms for ‘extremely’, all given options are applicable to the amount of alcohol fogging up her system, and consequently, she’s not entirely capable of looking where her feet step as she squeezes her way through the throngs of surging, pulsing bodies seemingly jumping to the beat of the music as one cohesive unit. It’s actually quite confusing for her, because while she’s rooted to the ground, everything around her is constantly moving up and down without the end in sight. Despite this animated obstacle course, she rips her way out of the crowd and lands at the bar with a sigh of relief. She blinks a few times—the floor doesn’t feel like a solid—and spots Fat Amy a few metres away and stumbles into her general vicinity.  _

_ “Amy!”  _

_ Beca’s eyebrows lift in utter disbelief when she realises Cynthia Rose is there as well. “CR! No way!”  _

_ “B, we both came here with you,” Cynthia laughs, and knocks back another shot.  _

_ “Ok, but, then I went dancing, and if I do say so myself, I am a fucking  exceptional dancer. I made the dancefloor my bitc—” Beca hiccups, but continues on her spiel nevertheless, smug grin and squinted eyes firmly in place, “I’m really good. Do you think I could audition for Dance Moms?”  _

_ Fat Amy spits out her drink.  _

_ “Yeah, well I’m an Australian-class wrestler—came first in the dingo category so you can bet your skinny ass that  I’d win the audition for Dance Moms.”  _

_ Beca looks positively affronted by this statement and glares her hardest at the blonde, but it’s ultimately ineffective because she’s swaying on the spot a little too much for her to appear even vaguely intimidating. She takes a step forward, the unsuccessful glare still fixed in place, and this is the moment she falls.  _

_ It’s Amy’s spat out tequila that causes her foot to slip at a horrific angle and for the rest of her body to follow suit, falling flat on the floor. From this position, she can feel everyone jumping up and down and the bass vibrating through the hardwood. She takes a few moments of lying down before her hand moves to her forehead. It hurts.  _

_ “Beca! Nooo!” Amy wails as if it’s the end of the world, and drops to the floor and tries to pull Beca up by the armpits, which results in Beca somehow blindly finding her way to standing.  _

_ “Okay, we gotta get you home B,” says Cynthia.  _

_ “That’s fair,” says Beca, before taking one step towards the exit and falling on her face once more, her ankle fairing no better the second time around - she’s pretty certain she heard a crack on the way down.  _

_ “Beca! Nooo!” Amy wails again in the exact same manner and Beca’s not sure if the first time she fell down was real or not, but she goes through the motions of being pulled up by the armpits, and in true character developmentary fashion, she waits for Cynthia and Amy to loop their arms around her waist and help her hobble to the exit instead.  _

_ She doesn’t even feel it; the potential that she’s snapped her ankle in half barely phases her other than the fact that she’ll never be able to audition for Dance Moms  now .  _

* * *

_Beca’s memory is bad when she’s sober. She’s even worse when she’s drunk._

_ Amy and Cynthia Rose’s haphazard carrying technique was making her arms ache in a dull, unimportant manner but she still tries to shift her position slightly and ends up accidentally putting weight on her probably broken ankle. She almost falls to the floor again but Amy and Cynthia Rose manage, albeit barely, to keep her upright as they both exhale an exhausted, “shit.” _

_ “Language.” One passerby mutters as Amy and Cynthia Rose finally make it to the entrance of the ER. When Beca’s sober again, she’ll admit that going to a club near the hospital was a good idea on Amy’s part. _

_ The two women on her sides practically drop Beca into one of the chairs, a small thud audible - as standard with a drunk Beca. _

_ Beca knocks her head back against the wall behind her, only grimacing for a fleeting moment at the pain in the back of her head that seems to have kickstarted a slight, constant throbbing. Is it possible to have a hangover while drunk?  _

_ Within ten minutes, a nurse comes and collects her, helping her into a wheelchair before wheeling her towards one of the curtained sections of the emergency ward. She’s unsteadily helped onto the examination bed, and remains there for a few minutes bored out of her mind, her gaze flicking between the several anti-STD posters decorating the small area.  _

_ Ew, herpes. _

_ Finally, a ginger woman shuffles in, her hair half-assedly tied up in a bun and bags the size of trucks under her unnervingly blue eyes. Beca finds that after staring for 2 seconds she has to look away from them, because while this woman doesn’t look particularly dangerous, the sharp shade makes Beca’s alcohol riddled brain feel mildly intimidated.  _

_ The doctor sighs, giving Beca a once over and rolls her eyes when she gets close enough to smell the liquor on her breath. Rude.  _

_ Apparently she’d said it out loud because the woman glares at her for some unknown reason. Probably because it’s 2 am and she’s been on call for several hours already, and she’s had her fair share of blind drunks who had walked into a lamp post or something or another tonight.  With this one, she appears to have sprained her ankle.  _

_ It’s disturbingly quiet in their little curtained off area—the doctor silently assessing her injury by prodding her ankle with her pen and listening for winces and looking for involuntary jerks away from her invasive hands. _

_ “Hello,” says Beca, and her hand shifts from its position on her thigh for a second before returning, deciding that waving while the other person is breaching her personal space boundaries is unnecessary.  _

_ The woman briefly looks at her, her eyes barely narrowed but in such a way that conveys suspicion, confusion, and mild irritation all in one. It still hasn’t clicked for Beca that this doctor probably hasn’t slept for 48 hours.  _

_ Beca frowns when another minute passes and there’s still no response. “Hello,” she repeats, and this time, the doctor looks at her longer than 0.2 seconds.  _

_ “Hello,” she says  in return, more to appease Beca than anything else. She pulls away on her wheeled chair and grabs her clipboard, jotting down some notes. “You have a second-degree sprain.  You’ll have to walk on crutches for a couple of weeks at most.”  _

_ Beca’s not really listening, finding that while the doctor is looking at her clipboard, tiredly noting down the injury, she doesn’t have to confront the intense eyes.  _

_ Beca has a sudden, deep revelation. One that she’s had before, but she feels the immediate need to reiterate it. Aloud.  _

_ “I’m... really gay,” she says with such conviction that the redhead looks up, slightly alarmed, opening and closing her mouth as she tries to formulate a response. “Oh. Wait that’s not something people say. Wait.”  _

_ The doctor chokes back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. She’s way too tired for this. “That’s… okay. I’ve prescribed you some painkillers and I’ll get a nurse to bring you a pair of crutches. Come back in a few days for a check up.”  _

_ She prompts for Beca to slide back into the wheelchair and she does so, and Beca smiles lopsidedly and says, “I’d like to be your friend.”  _

_ “That’s great,” the doctor says to placate the rambling drunk, and when the brunette is finally out of the ER she blows the hairs that had fallen into her face with a weary puff. “Drunk people.”  _

_Unbeknown to her, the exact same brunette would return in 6 weeks time for a completely unrelated injury, acquired while entirely sober._

* * *

Beca clears her throat as her mind comes back from its journey into the past. Everyone except Chloe is looking at her expectantly, and she really doesn’t want to disclose her drinking habits.

_ Actually _ , maybe now is a good time - neither Sheila nor Aubrey would flip out in public-

“She injured herself.”

“We met in Whole Foods.”

The words tumble out of Chloe and Beca’s mouths, respectively, at the same moment. They turn to look at each other -  _ fuck _ . Chloe’s eyes then move to Sheila, who rolls her eyes at their differing stories.

Beca picks up her glass of Malibu and Coke, taking a large mouthful before replacing it on the table. “I slipped on a broken jar of pasta sauce, so she helped me. In Whole Foods.”

Aubrey scoffs.

Chloe, feeling slightly more confident, turns to Beca’s step-sister. “How did you and Stacie meet then?”

“They met at a charity gala for cervical cancer their fathers were hosting,” Sheila interjects, trying to reduce Chloe’s confidence with a glare. “Which is, technically, none of your business as you’d never be at one.” Words begin rolling off her tongue like venom, unnecessary attacks Chloe doesn’t even remember deserving. “Next time you choose to speak up, make sure your opinion is wanted, adds to the conversation and isn’t delivered like an Atlanta gangster. You went to  _ Emory _ , you’re lucky no one’s kicked you out already.” A few people at nearby tables turn their heads Chloe’s way, with the doctor noticeably slumping in her seat.

Chloe takes a deep breath as one of the many supernatural waiters places a platter of starters into the centre of the table. She isn’t really sure who ordered it, or when it was ordered for that matter, but the presence of food has silenced conversation. For that she’s thanking God.

Thank fuck, it doesn’t taste like the chef’s sweat, Beca notes as she tries to savour each bite of the food.

Chloe, on the other hand, stares at the food in dismay. She agreed to a caesar salad, not octopus on a stick. She’s a vegetarian for goodness sake, she’d be happy with a plain salad.

Beca gives her a reassuring look, and Chloe gingerly stabs a piece of goodness-knows-what, which she slowly raises to her mouth. She pauses, and her jaw slackens slightly when a waiter places a bowl of fancy-looking soup in front of Aubrey.

Beca’s step-sister notices Chloe looking at her, “I'm vegan.”

The first of many kicks collides with Beca’s shin.

Beca winces at the pain running through her sensory neurons, taking a deep breath to avoid swearing,  _ again _ . Chloe looks back down at the meat on her plate before she looks back at the bowl of butternut squash soup less than a foot away, it isn’t fair.

Quietly swallowing, Chloe takes her napkin off her lap, “would you excuse me for a moment…” Before anyone is able to protest, she stands up and power walks away from the centre of the restaurant, grateful when she slips into the bathroom -  _ empty _ . “Thank Jesus.” She faces the long mirror and looks down at the sink as she places her clutch down on the marble surface.

She knocks her fist against it, it’s hard enough to be marble.

Trying to avoid throwing up at the posh decor of the bathroom, Chloe pulls her phone out of her clutch and begins typing out a text to Beca:

Chloe [19:34]:  _ How about we have a chat in the bathroom :) _

Beca feels her phone vibrating against her leg, and she tries to subtly pull it from her jeans. She manages to pull off her act, and she raises an eyebrow at the text on the screen. It takes a few read throughs before she stares at the blinking cursor. The smiley face isn’t doing anything to evoke confidence, and Beca wishes it was a mistake.

Chloe [19:36]: _ Beca. I know you’ve read this. _

Great.

Beca looks up, realising that whilst she’s shut herself in her own world, Stacie and her father have begun talking about profit margins.

Yeah, she can’t relate to that.

So, she stands up and quickly turns to her left, walking towards the bathroom. She bursts through the door not thirty seconds later, and notices Chloe leaning over one of the sinks.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” A scoff in return. “Chloe, I’m serious.”

“Stacie earns seven-point-five million a year, your dad prefers Macbeth over King Lear, Aubrey graduated Harvard, and this is Sheila’s third marriage.” Chloe takes a breath, trying to suppress all her anger. “You paid to see David Guetta and Sia, and you didn’t eat any meat for a month since it was too expensive.”

Beca takes a step closer, placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder - she’s quickly shrugged off.

“What do you know about me, Beca? Apart from the fact I’m a doctor and went to Emory, what do you  _ actually _ know about me?”

Beca takes a breath, deciding to tread carefully. “You like the History of Japan video…”

“I’m a vegetarian!” Chloe runs her fingers through her hair. “It’s not that I’m pissed just because I couldn’t have soup, but that's part of it, you told me what to eat before I’d even had the chance to relay any dietary requirements.” She turns on her heel to face Beca, sighing sadly. “I know I’m here for you, but I’m meant to be your girlfriend!”

Beca notes that the anger is still there.

“They  _ hate _ me, Beca! The only way I could potentially win back some favour is by telling Aubrey I’m a vegetarian, we can bond. Over our disdain for the pointless killing of animals.”

Beca shrugs, “I’m pretty sure she’s doing it to stay thin since they’re beginning IVF in a month, but nevermind.”

“Got any other smartass comments, DJ Unemployed?”

Beca clenches her jaw and decides not to return an insult, and they stare at each other with narrowed eyes for another two minutes of solid anger. However, the duo eventually makes it back to the table having reasoned that 5 minutes was long enough. Chloe’s dreaded caesar salad is waiting for her.

The second kick of the trip is administered.

* * *

Chloe falls onto the bed, she’s lost the will to live. She kicks her heels off and curls onto her side.

Beca stands awkwardly on the other side of the bed, shifting her weight on each leg. “Are we sharing?”

Chloe only grunts, and  Beca nods slightly to herself as she moves across the room in order to use the wardrobe as a shelter so she can change into her pyjamas. She shimmies under the covers, every muscle in her body feeling like ice until she finally squeezes into a position on her back with her eyes tightly kept to her sides.

“Are you sure about this? I mean-” Beca looks to her left, heavy breathing meets her ears.

Chloe’s already asleep, the pressure and fatigue having pushed her into a dreamless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, but life has been hectic for both of us. For example, I'm currently doing my GCSE examinations, which mean that even though I'm hardly at school, I'm revising like nuts. If anyone's the weak pairing in our duo - it's me.


	4. Gross Negligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Stacie, the sensible one.

Chloe jolts upright as sunlight streams through the large doors leading to the balcony. She rubs her eyes and looks down at a sleeping Beca - that woman could sleep through the apocalypse. With a quick shake of her head, Chloe swings her legs over the bed and stands up, quickly removing her dress and choosing something more comfortable to wear. 

When she’s satisfied that she’s comfortable to die in an oversized shirt and yoga pants, Chloe makes her way out of the room and begins her descent down the dreaded marble stairs.

She reaches the first floor, and her curiosity peaks.

Normally, Chloe’s conscious would tell her that it’s wrong for her to nose around someone else’s house… but the door is open, and no one’s coming-

“Good morning.” 

Chloe practically jumps out of her skin, taking several steps back from the door she’s peering into. “Morning.” She replies, taking a moment to turn to look at Stacie, who’s standing in the entrance hall, a mug of coffee between her hands. 

“I wouldn’t look in there, morning Aubrey is a cranky Aubrey.” Stacie smiles, an actual sincere smile, and holds the mug out. “Here.” Chloe begins descending the stairs, meeting Stacie at the bottom. “It was meant to be for Bree, but I put actual milk in it.”

“Thank you.” Chloe takes the mug and holds it to her lips, letting the warm liquid slip between them. “This is really good coffee.”

Stacie smiles for a moment, taking in Chloe’s enjoyment of the hot beverage. “I guess you’re used to hospital coffee. That’s banned in this house.” Chloe nods and takes another sip whilst Stacie continues. “Follow me, Heather told me about your tendency to get lost.”

Chloe feels her cheeks burn as Stacie begins to walk off into the vast house. She tries her best to remain within three paces of the taller woman in order to avoid getting lost.

Eventually, Stacie opens a door.

When Chloe steps inside the family room, she smiles to herself. Unlike the rest of the house, it isn’t pristine inside. 

“I’m sorry that it’s super messy.” Stacie looks around before she makes her way over to the couch, sitting down and tugging some of Heather’s blanket over her legs.

Chloe shakes her head even though Stacie can’t see her, relishing in the fact that there’s actually a room in the house that looks lived in, persay. A pile of Disney BluRay boxes is taking up a large proportion of the coffee table, with the remainder hidden by a variety of magazines and books. A blanket fort has been constructed in the corner, yet there are still blankets on each of the two arm chairs, plus the one Stacie and Heather are settled beneath. Heather’s toys are scattered on the floor in front of the tv, which has been invaded by Dora The Explorer.

Chloe doesn’t realise she hasn’t moved from the doorway until Heather’s peering over the back of the couch, the four-year-old’s head tilted to the side again. 

“Come,” Chloe blinks at Heather, all the mannerisms of Aubrey continuing to weird her out somewhat, “watch Dora with me.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Heather looks from her mother back to Chloe, “please?”

Pushing all thoughts about Aubrey to the back of her mind, Chloe crosses the room, settling in one of the armchairs with a view of the doorway. She tugs the blanket over her legs and places her, now empty, mug on the coffee table.

It only takes five seconds before Stacie’s struck up conversation.

“I’m sorry Chloe,” she begins. Chloe’s eyes move from the Yves Saint Laurent catalogue on the coffee table to Stacie, “about Aubrey and Sheila. They can be bad, but I wasn’t expecting that kind of assault… I would’ve stepped in had I known that would happen.”

Chloe’s cheeks puff outward, and she takes a deep breath. “Thank you.” It’s timid, small, like she almost doesn’t want to voice the fact that she thought both Aubrey and Sheila were reaching above and beyond in order to make her feel smaller the previous night.

“And if you need anything,” Stacie carries on. “Don’t hesitate to ask me, or Heather, we’re happy to help.” Heather looks at Chloe and nods, the child playing with the sleeves of her pyjamas - Chloe just presumes they’re designer. “You’re our guest, and it isn’t right that my wife and mother-in-law acted that way towards you. I’ll talk to them and get them to knock it off.”

“Stacie, you really don’t-”

Chloe’s cut off by the other woman, who scoffs. “They treated you awfully. We complain about being discriminated against for being gay, yet they go around and discriminate against others for not having billionaire fathers and ex-husbands.” Stacie’s hands begin to run through Heather’s hair, “I’m slightly annoyed by it all. Don’t get me wrong, I love Aubrey beyond measure, but if she becomes the Sheila to Heather’s Aubrey, I will do something major.”

At the second mention of her name, Heather looks up at her mother, “me?” It’s innocent, much like the child Heather is, but Chloe can’t help but sense an undertone, proof that Heather may already be forming into the person Stacie never wants to see her daughter become.

Chloe’s eyes move away from Heather, who’s become reabsorbed in the cartoon on the TV, when she hears someone else enter the room. 

“Morning honey,” Chloe deflates slightly when she doesn’t see Beca in the doorway. “Morning Cleo.”

Despite their argument, she’d rather see Beca over Aubrey any day.

Chloe takes a moment, subtly taking in the blonde in the doorway. Aubrey looks great, she’ll easily admit, and considering they’ve all only been out of bed for ten minutes the fact that Beca’s step-sister’s hair is pretty much perfection is either an achievement or fucking witchcraft.

She's too busy focusing on the perfectly formed curls that she doesn't correct Aubrey about the fact her name is not Cleo.

"She's called Chloe, Bree." Chloe's eyes flick between the couple, smiling sheepishly.

"Mhmm..."

Chloe tries to make out the embroidery on the blonde's silk pyjama shirt without drawing too much attention to herself - Stacie probably wouldn't like the fact Chloe appears to be eyeing her wife's breasts. Chloe manages to make out the basic pattern of the letters.

Wait, are those her  _ initials _ ? On her pyjamas? What the heck?

“You never brought me my coffee.”

Chloe stares down at her sock clad feet, fiddling with her hands as she tries her best to shrivel into a small ginger ball in order to avoid the judging glare that will inevitably come when the topic turns to how she’s the one that stole her coffee. 

Stacie and Aubrey continue talking for a minute or so, during which Chloe’s breath is held and she feels as if she’s about to burst, before talk of coffee is dropped and Aubrey appraises Heather’s artful recreation of Dora’s face. Chloe exhales. 

“Sweetie you are  _ so _ talented, you’ve practically achieved 2D realism!” Aubrey kneels down and further inspects the work of art, a large, friendly smile stretched across her face. Heather squints, her mouth falling open in confusion at ‘2D’ and ‘realism’, but she soon decides that it’s a good thing. 

Chloe is a little awestruck at Aubrey’s drastic change in character, and looks to Stacie to see if this is normal or this is a manic side effect of paracetamol or something, only to find Stacie gazing gently upon the scene with an even fonder expression than Aubrey’s. Chloe makes sure nobody is looking before pinching herself. She’s startled that she doesn’t wake up. Maybe she should try harder--

“So, Chloe,” Stacie starts, and Chloe is forced to put her fingers to rest, “I think you and Aubrey share many interests.”

“We do?”

“I must disagree.” 

“Aubrey is very much interested in your profession.” Stacie bites her lip to keep the smile down and hidden from Aubrey’s suspicious glare. “I really think it would make a great conversation topic.”

“You are?” Chloe looks at Aubrey cautiously.

“She was wondering if a real-life residency is accurately portrayed on  _ Grey’s Anatomy _ .”  Stacie cuts in.

Aubrey’s glare intensifies, and Chloe swears she saw a slight flare of the nostril. 

“Oh.” Chloe uncurls slightly from her ball, looking across the room. “I’m not someone who does surgeries  _ that _ often… So…” Her eyes fall back to her socks. “Sorry?”

“I don’t watch it. I don’t have the time to watch such garbage.” Chloe nods at Aubrey’s words, everyone is entitled to an opinion she supposes.

And just when Chloe is beginning to get somewhere with Aubrey, she opens her damn mouth again. “Like  _ The Good Wife _ and  _ Suits _ completely over exaggerates being a lawyer right? It’s so much easier than the show, no one gets shot or anything.” 

Chloe chuckles to herself, eyes completely missing Stacie reaching out for Aubrey before the blonde stands up and leaves the room, Heather running after her, picture and crayons in hand.

“Mommy!”

Chloe looks on in confusion at Stacie, who shakes her head to herself. “Court is a touchy subject, sorry.” Chloe nods to herself, swallowing at the realisation that she's taken three steps back with Aubrey.

They sit in silence for a minute, Stacie staring at a pile of Heather’s drawings and Chloe watching her.

“You have no normal milk.” Both Chloe and Stacie snap their heads to look at the door, where Beca is standing, fully clothed. “I can’t make waffles with that coconut shit.”

“It’s in the left hand door of the fridge.” Stacie answers simply.

“Great.” Comes Beca’s reply, “also, I need a lift to Fifth to get Heather’s gift.”

Stacie hums to herself, picking her phone up and swiftly unlocking it with her fingerprint. She skims through her calendar and sighs. “Aubrey’s going, Madison and Fifth.”

Chloe feels herself deflate before she sighs, “ _ no _ . I refuse. No Beca.”

Beca raises an eyebrow at Chloe, followed by a glare and a nod in Stacie’s direction. “Babe, we need to buy your niece a present.”

_ Your niece _ . 

Chloe desperately wants to yell at Beca. Not only does she need Beca to apologise to her, but she now has to go shopping with both Beca and  _ Aubrey _ , and she wants to self operate in order to stop the pain.

“Stace, can we have the wishlist you and Aubrey read from?” Beca asks. Normally, she wouldn’t bother trying to grab the coveted wishlist, but since Chloe’s here and she’s trying to prove to her family that she has one success in life, Beca is determined to get this right.

Stacie, still absorbed in her phone, nods. “Sure, I’ll print it off in my office.”

* * *

 

Chloe’s still in awe.

Even as she runs her fingers over the deep blue leather and feels the heat against her back, Chloe still doesn’t understand how people live like this- it’s a whole different world. As Beca continues trying to elicit a conversation from her, Chloe looks down at her feet. She has the coveted ‘Non Affordable For Beca Wishlist’ and she’s probably about to throw her money away in buying gifts for her ‘niece’. In fact, she’s about to try and prove her worth to Aubrey.

Not with her personality, but with money. 

She’ll just ignore the $150 hole in her bank account when she gets home (if she gets back to Atlanta alive).

“Do you like dogs, Chloe?” Chloe’s taken aback when she realises that Aubrey’s got her name correct. In fact, the sudden conversation is a stark juxtaposition to the initial meeting between the two women.

“Oh… Uh…” Beca’s head whips around, looking at Chloe from her position in the front passenger seat. Chloe’s own head turns to her right, her entire body relaxing back into the warmth of the heated seat when her mind registers the fact that Aubrey is more focused on her phone than she is on Chloe.

Chloe’s glad- she doesn’t want to get creeped out by the mother-daughter likeness again, even if Heather is on the other side of the city with Emily.

“I like dogs…” God, she sounds super uncertain. “I like most animals…” She trails off when she realises how uncertain she sounds. There’s an awkward silence for a few moments, and Chloe tries to turn her attention towards the outside world, which gradually slows down.

“Good.” Chloe and Beca excuse a look at the blonde’s blunt response, both hoping she’d elaborate. “Because I really hate them.”

So much for an explanation.

Chloe looks back out the window, brows furrowing in confusion until she notices the car’s stopped moving. 

Oh. They’ve arrived.

Chloe goes to open the door, her hand seeking out the handle as fast as possible to get her out of the strained atmosphere, but she’s stopped by Aubrey talking again. 

“Now--before we exit the vehicle I believe it is of utmost importance that we discuss the proper etiquette for Fifth Avenue,” says Aubrey, and Chloe can see her pursing her lips in a pleased manner in the rear mirror. Chloe barely contains a glare, instead diverting her energy into tightening her grip on the handle. She finds herself perpetually on the borders of fear and rage whenever she’s near the blonde. 

“We’re not fucking 5, Aubrey,” gripes Beca, giving the glare that Chloe so deeply wished to unleash. “Quit with the condescending tone.” 

“Wow, Beca, that’s a big word there. Condescending.” 

The glare intensifies. 

Half a second of Chloe watching Beca watching Aubrey passes until Aubrey decides she’s bored and leaves the vehicle, cueing Chloe’s and Beca’s departure as well. 

They’re hit with the noise, the hustle and bustle of New York as soon as they stumble onto their feet, and the wind whips through their hair, haphazardly plastering it across their faces. Somehow, impossibly, Aubrey remains immaculate through the lashing of the wind. Not even a single hair falls out of place. 

Chloe keeps up with Aubrey with relative ease--despite their slight height difference, through sheer determination and dedication to her goal of impressing her. Beca trails behind voluntarily, and with the few concerned glances that Chloe throws her way, it’s obvious that Beca is trying to burn a hole through the back of Aubrey’s head with her mind. 

They walk for a while before Aubrey turns and walks straight into a store. Chloe looks up at the sign - Cartier,  _ yay _ .

The place is awfully grand considering they’re shopping for a 5 year old to-be. Chloe sincerely doubts that Heather wishes for platinum love rings or quartz watches every time she’s tucked into bed. In fact, Chloe thinks that if that  _ were _ the case then she’d already have such items. 

Everything is so shiny and sparkly--what if she tripped? What if her heel snapped in two and she crashed into a glass casing for a 3 thousand dollar necklace? She’d be incarcerated, for sure. She’d never step foot outside ever again. Oh God. Oh God. She hasn’t watched nearly enough prison shows to know how to survive. 

Beca glances at Chloe in amusement as she clings onto her arm, “alright?” Chloe just nods, continuing to glance around like a deer in the headlights.

Within a few minutes, Aubrey appears to have finished talking to one of the customer assistants, a brand new watch strapped around her wrist.

Beca exhales now, “that would pay my rent for a year or so.”

Aubrey walks straight past them, and Chloe remains stuck to Beca’s side. “What do they give you for your birthday?”

“I got a singing card and one-hundred dollars.”

“Considerate.”

“Very.”

* * *

Now, this store seems far more 5 year old friendly, and Chloe feels that knocking over a doll stand will not lead to 10 years in prison, much to Aubrey’s distaste, probably. They’ve entered  _ American Girl _ , and Beca looks even more uncomfortable than when they were in  _ Cartier _ , but Chloe thinks the price range is far more suited to her bank account capabilities.

“God, it’s like they’re all staring into my soul. Simultaneously.” Chloe rolls her eyes at Beca tightening their hand hold. “Look at them. All of them. You can just tell that there’s some evil overlord bound to take control of these dolls wirelessly and take over the world through the weaponization of their cold, icy stares.”

“They’re not even electronic, Beca.” 

Beca huffs. “Still.”

The wishlist is quite precise, and Chloe is forced to find the various accessories for the blonde doll in her arms. When they reach the checkout, she looks at the pile of plastic on the counter.

“They'll take over. I know it.”

She's doing this for Beca, Chloe reminds herself. But fuck, does she want to slap her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see, I know, but we've both had hectic schedules. At the end of the day, we like tv and Tumblr too much. But hey, we push each other to write and enjoy it, and you get the enjoyment too.
> 
> What are your thoughts going towards the pinnacle of the whole endeavour - Heather's birthday?


End file.
